Back to Before
by Erin Kaye Hashet
Summary: All this time she's been so worried about being loved when maybe all she's ever really needed is to love. An Emily story.


**Title:** Back to Before

**Author:** Erin Kaye Hashet

**Rating:** PG

**Distribution: **Anywhere, just let me know

**Feedback:**

**Spoilers:** Through "A Messenger, Nothing More"

**Summary:** All this time she's been so worried about being loved when maybe all she's really needed to do is to love. An Emily story.

**Disclaimer:** Wishing and wishing won't make these characters mine

**Author's Notes: **According to the Proud and Prejudiced web site, "Put whole songs into fics. It is not a waste of space. Music just speaks to everyone! And if it doesn't, you are just a cold person! Remember to put the whoollleee entire song in your fic! Let the fic speak to you! Let the music speak to you!" (sarcasm) Well, I guess I'm following the rules, then.( /sarcasm) Seriously, though, this fic may be great or it may suck—you tell me—but don't write it off just because there's a song in it. Anywho...

Back to Before

by Erin Kaye Hashet

_There was a time our happiness seemed never ending_

_I was so sure the where we were heading was right_

_Like a road, so certain and straight and unbending_

_Our little road, with never a crossroad in sight_

_Back in the days when we spoke in civilized voices_

_Women in white and sturdy young men at the oar_

_Back in the days when I let you make all my choices_

_We can never go back to before_

_There was a time my feet were so solidly planted_

_You'd sail away while I turned my back to the sea_

_I was content, a princess asleep and enchanted_

_If I had dreams, then I let you dream them for me_

_Back in the days when everything seemed so much clearer_

_Women in white who knew what their lives held in store_

_Where are they now, those women who stared from the mirror?  
We can never go back to before_

_There are people out there unafraid of revealing_

_That they might have a feeling_

_Or they might have been wrong_

_There are people out there unafraid to feel sorrow_

_Unafraid of tomorrow_

_Unafraid to be weak_

_Unafraid to be strong_

_There was a time when you were the person in motion_

_I was your wife. It never occurred to want more_

_You were my sky, my moon and my stars and my ocean_

_We can never go back to before_

_We can never go back to before_

-from _Ragtime_

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The bench was gone. She'd been thinking of it for days now. She'd been thinking of it when her friend mentioned her grandson at Yale, and when Rory said she'd had one more exam. Introducing Rory to Graham Sullivan had just been an excuse. Emily was here for the bench— or, rather, the trash can where the bench used to be.

Over a year ago, when they'd taken Rory to Yale, she and Richard had stood over that trash can and kissed, as they had back in 1964, when she'd gotten angry at him over his inability to commit to holiday plans—even then, she was suspicious that he was back with Pennilyn Lott—and he'd thrown her the ring box. The bench wasn't there anymore, but it hadn't mattered. When she and Richard had stood there, she'd been taken right back to 1964. She'd felt so in love with Richard, so happy to be where she was in life.

The next time they were at Yale, Richard had walked right past the trash can without saying anything. That was the day she'd found out about his lunches with Pennilyn Lott.

And now here she was. Alone. Standing above what might have been any other trash can, piled high and swarming with flies.

She wished the bench was back, not only so that she could try to recapture that love she wanted so badly to feel, but simply so that she could have a place to sit down. She wanted very badly to cry but knew she couldn't. Emily had trained herself so well not to display sadness in public that even crying in private felt wrong now. But if she couldn't feel that love anymore, at the very least, she wanted to be able to feel _something_.

She'd driven down to Yale from Wellesley with a bunch of girlfriends one weekend. Her friend Laura had a boyfriend in a frat at Yale, and she was taking all of them to a party. Emily was sick of being single while so many of her friends had boyfriends. "It's because you're too forward," her mother had scolded her, frowning. "Boys don't like women with too much to say." So Emily didn't plan on saying anything. Her blue dress would do the talking for her.

Laura walked right up to her boyfriend, Peter, throwing her arms around him and kissing him right there. Other boys gravitated toward the rest of Emily's friends. Emily's eyes met with one boy—the tallest one, and, she thought, the most handsome. But he had a girl standing next to him, a small, shy-looking girl with brown hair. The boy kept his gaze on Emily, then turned next to the girl with him.

When the girl got up to go to the bathroom, he walked over to Emily and extended his hand. "Don't believe we've met," he said. "I'm Richard Gilmore."

"Emily Hart," she said with a smile, shaking his hand.

"Emily Hart. Well, I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," she said. "Until you prove me otherwise." She winced as soon as she said it. That was one of those things that her mother always told her not to say—"too forward." But Richard laughed and said, "Well, I will do my best not to," and Emily started to relax.

The girl came back from the bathroom, and she hung back watching while Emily and Richard talked. Richard went on and on with the conversation before he noticed. Finally, he turned around and said, "Lynnie! I didn't see you standing there." He stepped back and wrapped his arm around the girl. "Emily Hart, this is Pennilynn Lott."

"How do you do," Emily said coldly. She got up and stalked off to get a drink. Richard had been leading her on when clearly he was with this girl, this Pennilynn Lott. What kind of a name was that, anyway? And what could he possibly see in her? She looked so quiet and boring—just like, she realized, the kind of girl her mother wanted her to be.

But just before she left, Richard caught up to her and asked her for her number.

Within a week he called her, and the next weekend, she was back down at Yale, looking at paintings in the art gallery with him. Next thing she knew, he had broken his engagement to Pennilynn Lott and started dating her. Then the proposal on the bench had come, and the rest was history.

Why was she living in a hotel half the time now? How could everything have gone so wrong? Well, she thought, first there was Jason Stiles. Jason came, weaseled his way into her husband's business, and suddenly Richard was twenty-five years younger and off to Atlantic City, leaving Emily alone with nothing to do. She'd been angry at having nothing to do—angry at Jason for ruining her plans, angry at Richard for going along with them, angry at herself for being stuffy and out-of-date, angry at herself for having nothing to do with herself. What did other corporate wives do when they didn't have functions to plan? Did they have hobbies? Friends? Why didn't she?

She'd always worked hard at everything, all her life. She was always a good student and always tried to make the most friends, but never quite succeeded. Her mother always told her that she was too forceful, too un-ladylike. She could never satisfy her mother. It always bothered Emily that her parents had named her younger sister Hope—some deep, paranoid part of her thought that maybe they'd been thinking, "Hope this daughter's easier to deal with than Emily." And they were right. Hopie was Emily's best friend growing up, but Emily was jealous of her, too. Everything always came so easily to Hope. She was smart, pretty, popular, and so nice that you couldn't hold it against her. But now Hopie was in Paris, married to the love of her life, and Emily was here, alone.

She'd worked hard at being a good daughter-in-law, but it never made a bit of difference. Richard's mother always hated her, no matter what she did. Even when Emily tried to please her mother-in-law in _death_, the bitch found a way to insult her from beyond the grave. The damn letter. Of course Pennilyn Lott would be a better wife. She was quiet, sweet, never made waves, never took control. She was the anti-Emily, so of course everybody loved her. No one ever loved Emily.

She'd worked hard at being a good mother, but good mothers didn't have daughters who got pregnant at sixteen, or worse, daughters who ran away from home. Lorelai had all the traits that Emily had been criticized for all her life, with an irreverent sense of humor thrown in to add insult to injury. And it killed her that Richard had insisted on naming their daughter after his mother—Emily had wanted to name her Victoria, which ended up being her middle name. Lorelai's childhood had been years and years of headaches and worries. And yet, when Emily reflected on it, if she'd had a quiet, obedient daughter, a Pennilyn Lott daughter, Emily probably would have been bored.

But she and Lorelai never got along throughout Lorelai's childhood. When Lorelai got pregnant, it felt like a personal insult, like Lorelai was _trying _to make Emily look bad. And then Lorelai left, left home, left a note, left Emily with the knowledge that she was a terrible mother who had suffocated her daughter and led her straight to pregnancy. That knowledge was like an illness, and Emily never quite recovered from it. Even now that she had her daughter and granddaughter back, the knowledge hurt, and probably always would.

She knew that she'd judged Lorelai harshly numerous times in the past, but even though she was immensely proud of where her daughter had ended up in life, it irked her. Sometimes it felt like Lorelai was standing there smirking, saying, "Toldja so!" Emily knew now that it probably _wouldn't _have been better if Lorelai had just married Christopher and lived a life like Emily's, but admitting it would mean saying not only that Lorelai had chosen the right path, but that Emily had chosen the wrong one.

She didn't always appreciate it as much as she should, but getting Lorelai back was the greatest gift of her life. And so it was the last straw when she tried to talk to Richard, and he decided he'd rather save his money than his relationship with Lorelai. Emily had realized after she found out about Lorelai and Jason that she really wasn't surprised. Nothing Lorelai did could really surprise her anymore, and did it even matter? There were bigger things to worry about. And as Emily stood there in Richard's study, it occurred to her that if she was given a choice between losing everything they had—the house, the servants, everything they owned, everything they'd spent their entire lives working for—or losing Lorelai and Rory, she wouldn't think twice. The knowledge shocked her, that it was so easy. And that Richard could just dismiss her so easily, be so unconcerned with the idea of losing his daughter and granddaughter, made everything else—the Atlantic City trip, the Pennilyn Lott lunches, his mother's bitchiness, the fact that she'd spent an entire day and God knew how much money shopping for him only to have it all go unnoticed—pale in comparison.

And now here she was. Standing alone over a trash can, feeling nothing.

(asterisk)

It was nice to think that the Italian men actually found her attractive at sixty-one. Logically, Emily knew that they would probably flirt with anything that breathed, but she couldn't even remember the last time that Richard had told her she was beautiful. He used to tell her all the time.

"Oh, look! An Italian bookstore!" Rory exclaimed. "We have to look in here.

Emily laughed. "Rory, you don't even read Italian!"

"I can make educated guesses."

After Rory had made her purchase, Emily said, because she'd noticed it, "You seem happier than usual today."

Rory looked up. "Oh...well, I guess I am!"

"Any particular reason?"

Rory shrugged. "Well, I talked to Mom yesterday. We had a nice conversation."

"Did you?" Emily raised her eyebrows. Then, because Rory seemed comfortable with her and because she'd been wondering, she said, "Is everything okay with you and your mother? Your phone conversations lately have seemed...unusual."

"Well..." Rory bit her lip.

"Did you have a fight?"

"We did, before I left." Rory looked down. "But everything seems to be okay now."

"What was the problem?" Emily said, gently—she hoped.

Rory hesitated for a long time. Then she said cautiously, "Grandma, if I tell you this, can you promise me you won't blame Mom? Because this is completely my fault."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "All right..." she said, immensely curious.

"Well." Rory paused again. "You remember my ex-boyfriend Dean?"

"Yes?"

"Well...he's married now."

"_Is _he?" Emily was amazed. "Did he get the girl pregnant?"

"No."

"Well, then why in God's name would a nineteen-year-old boy get married?"

"I don't know...I don't know. But before we came here...Dean and I were talking...and then we...kissed." Rory's head was down in shame by the end of the sentence, and Emily recoiled in shock. She was even more stunned to realize that Rory's tone of voice implied more than kissing. "Mom caught us, and she got mad. I didn't want to admit I was wrong...and I didn't until last night."

"Oh, my," said Emily faintly, thinking only, _Pennilyn Lott. My granddaughter is Pennilyn Lott_.

"He told me his marriage was over," she said, still looking down. "I was so stupid, I believed him. When we were dating, we watched _The Donna Reed Show _together and he said he wouldn't mind that—the whole having a wife who just serves you and has no opinions of her own. And that's who Lindsay is. She doesn't have a job, she changes her opinions based on who she's dating—like she told Dean she was a Cubs fan when I know she liked the Red Sox back in middle school. I saw her in the butcher shop asking how to make the perfect pot roast for Dean."

_No_, Emily realized. _His wife is Pennilyn Lott. Rory is me. _

Emily gave her a small smile. "Well, you realize you were wrong, Rory. That's something."

"I guess," Rory murmured, playing with the drawstring on her sweater.

Emily looked at her watch. "Your mother's probably at home now. Why don't we call her right now?"

"Okay." Rory took out her cell phone and dialed. "Hi, Mom....I'm good. Went to an Italian bookstore today....Yes, I know, but I can guess....well, now that I know that it's cheese and not cream....So....What news?...._Old _news? What old news? How old?...Well, what is it?...You're _what?!_" Rory's voice rose an octave. "You...you _what?_...No, no, it's not bad. Not at all. I'm...I'm happy, I think. I just need to process this..." Rory sounded dazed. Emily's eyes were narrowed as she tried to figure out what they were talking about, but Rory wasn't giving her any clues.

When Rory handed her the phone, Emily said, "So what's this news you were talking about, Lorelai?"

"Geez, didn't waste any time with that one, Mom."

"Well, it seemed to be quite a big deal, so I thought I wanted to know."

Lorelai sighed. "Okay, well...Mom, you remember Luke?"

"Of course I remember Luke."

"Right. Well...he's away right now, but he and I are sort of...seeing each other."

Emily was silent, contemplating this.

"Mom? Say something."

Emily paused. "Well," she said, "if you're happy, I'm glad."

Now it was Lorelai's turn to be silent. After awhile Emily said, "Lorelai? Are you still there?"

"Did the international phone lines cross or something? I cannot still be speaking to Emily Gilmore."

"Excuse me?"

"Did I actually tell you that I have a new boyfriend and not have that statement followed by a barrage of questions designed to mask your disapproval? You haven't liked any of my boyfriends since Christopher, Mom."

"Oh, that is not true." Even as the words left Emily's mouth, she knew she was lying, but she kept talking anyway. "Besides, it's not as if I couldn't see this coming."

"I told you once that I might have feelings for him and you asked me what I could possibly be thinking."

"Lorelai. I am happy for you and that's the end of the story."

"Okay, then. I'm happy about you being happy for me."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. How's Italy?"

After they had hung up, Emily thought about the conversation. She realized that she really was happy that her daughter was dating Luke, and not only because it meant that she was no longer with Jason Stiles. As recently as a few years ago, Emily would have been embarrassed to admit that her daughter was dating a man who flipped burgers for a living, especially since most of her friends who knew that Lorelai had gotten pregnant at sixteen had moved away and most of her current friends probably just assumed that Lorelai was divorced. But Emily honestly had liked Luke the few times that she'd met him. If Lorelai was telling the truth and she and Luke hadn't been involved that time that Richard had gotten sick and had to go to the hospital, then Luke had just driven her there out of the kindness of his heart that day, even though he was visibly uncomfortable. Emily couldn't imagine any of her friends ever doing that.

Emily was remembering something else, though. The first time she had ever really talked to Luke had been sitting in the hospital hallway, staring at Richard's tie. She'd let herself be vulnerable, almost to the point of tears, which normally she would never dream of doing in front of a stranger. But that was beside the point. Emily had been sitting there terrified—_terrified_—that her husband was about to die. Not because she'd be less of a person without him, not because she'd be alone, but because she loved Richard and would miss him if he died. She had actually begun to cry, something she never did, when Richard started to talk about his will, and had demanded to die first.

But what if she didn't? What if Richard died right now, while she was walking around Europe with Rory? She'd be among the last to know. A maid would probably find his dead body, and then Lorelai would be told, and then she'd have to call Rory's cell phone, because Emily hadn't brought hers, and only then would Emily learn of her husband's death. And she would have to go to the funeral knowing that there was so much unfinished business between them, so many problems she'd left unfixed while knowing all the time, deep down, that she loved Richard.

The realization was liberating. She loved Richard. It had always been true, but it had been a long time since she'd acknowledged it. She'd fallen in love with him that night at the frat house and, despite all of their problems, had never fallen out of it. She remembered sitting with Luke in the hospital that day and saying to him, "_I don't know what Lorelai's told you about her father, I can certainly imagine, but he's a very good man. He always did the right thing for his family_." She'd meant it then, and it was no less true now. Even if Richard was wrong about his course of action with Floyd and the lawsuit, and she believed he was, his intentions couldn't be any different. He must have believed he was doing the right thing for his family, as he always had.

She'd had a similar realization a few months ago, at the mall. She'd listened to Lorelai talk on the phone to the people working for her, and admired immensely her daughter's ability to take control of a situation, to run things effectively, the way she'd always run her own life. She loved Lorelai then, and the fact that the thought was unusual had shocked her. But although she had always loved _her daughter_, the way all mothers were obligated to love their children, had she ever really loved _Lorelai_? She realized then that she did. She loved Lorelai's independence, her leadership, the way she'd raised her own daughter, even the irreverent sense of humor that could get so irritating sometimes. And the things she loved in all the people she was closest to—Richard, Lorelai, Rory—were things she could see in herself. In recent months, Emily had gotten used to thinking that she'd done nothing with her life except run launch parties and charity dinners. But hadn't she done in a way that had taught Lorelai to be the way she was? In a different life and time, Emily realized, she might have _been _Lorelai.

All these years, Emily had been so concerned about being loved—being loved by Richard, by Lorelai, by her parents, by her mother-in-law, by all the other corporate wives—when maybe all she'd really needed to do was to love. She'd loved the people closest to her—Richard, Lorelai, and Rory—all the time, and the things she loved about them were all things she loved about herself. Did they love her? Did anyone? Did it even matter? She loved them, and she loved herself.

Back at the hotel, Emily hesitated for a minute before picking up the phone and dialing. She remembered how Lorelai had told her, on that day at the mall, to just talk to Richard without bickering. It occurred to her that she'd never really tried. Now was the time.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Richard."

"Emily?" He sounded surprised, not in an unhappy way.

"How are you, Richard?"

"I'm...in good health," he said, sounding as if his words were carefully chosen. "How are you?"

"Oh, well...Europe is nice," she said.

"As it always is."

"I just wanted to let you know," she said, her heart speeding up, "that I'll be coming home in a few days. I hope that we can talk then."

"Well!" Richard's tone of voice rose pleasantly. "I hope so, too, Emily. I've been trying to call you, but you left your cell phone here."

"Yes, I know. I...I should have called earlier." Emily paused. "I...I don't want to spend too much money on this call, so...we'll talk then."

"And I will look forward to it." Richard's tone was both warm and decided. "I've missed you, Emily," he added gently.

"I've missed you, too." Emily felt tears coming to her eyes, the tears she had trained herself not to cry, and she quickly wiped them away. "I'll see you then." The words "I love you," were on her tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to let them fall. That would be for later, when they really talked.

"Goodbye, Emily."

"Goodbye, Richard."

Emily hung up. She sat there at the desk for a long time.

In a few days she would be going back home. But she would never go back to anything else. Emily Gilmore loved her family and herself, and from now on, she was only moving forward.

The End

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